The Good Soldier
by unusualsuspect106
Summary: 'Somehow, somewhere along the line, he stops being that-other-kid-that-Bruce-adopted and he becomes your brother. Your stupid, crazy little brother, who is never afraid enough.' Jason Todd fic.
1. Chapter 1

**So… Jason Todd is officially canon. The Young Justice fandom is currently exploding. And I am going to vent all of my feelings through Fanfiction. If you have a tumblr account, feel free to post a link to this (as long as you credit me), because I really think they need as much Jason as they can get. **

**Nightwing's POV**

You are so young, when you lose your family. You watch, frozen with shock and disbelief and terror, as they spiral towards the ground. You are unable to turn your head away as their bodies slam into the dirt, you can't even bring yourself to close your eyes. It's the _sound, _though, that will replay itself over and over in your mind for years to come. The sound of human bodies crunching against the earth. You hear that sound and you are suddenly lost in a tidal wave of anguish and fear and you can barely move your legs as you clamber down the ladder. Everything is a blur of colors and tears and apologetic faces and flashing ambulance lights

And then Bruce Wayne appears in front of you and suddenly, through the haze of grief, you can think again. There is something calming about him. You don't think twice when he asks you to move into his home.

While has never truly replaced your parents, you've both been through so much pain and confusion and laughter and terror that you can't help loving each other, on some level. He never tells you he loves you, though, not openly, because he's The Batman, and to acknowledge his emotions would mean acknowledging that somewhere, under that cowl, there is still a human.

Eventually, you move out. _Leave the nest, _to use the whole bird motif. He accepts it right away, gives you a curt nod to acknowledge your words. He always knew that this day would come. He's not happy that you are moving to Blüdhaven, he doesn't like the idea of you dealing with that city all on your own, when you aren't even eighteen yet, but he says nothing. He pretends to accept it. You've learned how to read his face, though, and you can see that little hint of pain in his eyes as you begin your hunt for an apartment.

And then he misses you. You can tell, even over this distance. You miss him, too, of course, but every child has to grow up, and you can't spend the rest of your life in his shadow. It's hard, though, imagining just Bruce and Alfred, alone in Wayne Manor. The image doesn't feel right in your mind.

So, you aren't altogether surprised when he adopts another boy. Jason Todd. A street kid. At first, it takes everything you have to conceal that bitter jealousy which laps at the edges of your mind. He's just _replacing _you, plucking some random kid out of Gotham and using him to fill the void you have left behind. Robin is _your _identity, even if you've abandoned it, and he thinks he can just hand it over to someone else? He thinks he can replace his surrogate son? The kid even _looks _like you. That inky black hair, that small-yet-powerful frame, that all-knowing smirk. You wouldn't be surprised if you peeled off his mask and found a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you.

But then you travel to Gotham, and you meet him, and all of that anger simply crumbles away because Jason is different, so different to you. He's reckless and sharp and fearless and fast thinking and he can't follow an order to save his life. And you see the grief, and the anger, which is still buried deep inside of him, and you see the look in his eyes whenever somebody mentions his parents, and you feel nothing but affection for him.

You laugh with him. You argue with him. You fall victim to his countless pranks. When he messes up, and he messes up a lot, you're always there. And then somehow, somewhere along the line, he stops being _that-other-kid-that-Bruce-adopted_ and he becomes your brother. Your stupid, crazy little brother, who is never afraid enough. And you love him, but you never tell him that, because to acknowledge emotion is to acknowledge weakness.

And then, before you know it, he's gone. Taken from you. You can barely remember the night your parents died. It's all a blur of faces and screams and bodies twisted into sickening, unnatural shapes. But you remember the day you lost Jason. You saw him, that very morning. You were slouched over the Batcomputer, sipping a hot chocolate and smirking as he desperately hunted for his utility belt.

'Didn't Bruce order you to keep it handy at all times?' you asked. You tried to keep the amusement out of your voice, because the kid was getting genuinely frustrated, but you couldn't resist a bit of light teasing. He threw you a dirty look before resuming his search, and you turned your interest back to the computer. You don't know how much time passed, it was probably only minutes, but suddenly Jason was giving a yell of triumph and hastily clipping the belt over his costume. He gave you a quick wave as he made a beeline for the plane, and you half-heartedly returned it. You were tired, too tired to watch your brother leap into the Batplane, too tired to wave goodbye to him properly.

And then somehow a whole twenty hours passed and you were back in Blüdhaven and Alfred was calling you and he only had to say two words, _Master Richard, _for you to know. There is something unmistakable about the voice of grief. It's certainly become familiar to you.

You watch Bruce shut down, cut you and everybody else out. You watch a single tear slide silently down Alfred's face. You spend hours staring at the grave, completely stunned, unable to process the fact that _Jason is gone and you are never going to see him again. _And you just keep clinging to that one, thin strand of hope, the one that countless psychiatrists had drilled into your head after the Graysons' deaths. _It will get better._

Days pass, months pass, almost a whole year passes, and the sharp pain that is Jason's memory subsides into a dull, ever-present ache. Bruce starts talking to you again. Barbara finds out about Nightwing, and suddenly the weight upon your shoulders feels that much lighter. Slowly, things _do _get better, and eventually you can't help but chuckle whenever you reach his grave. You remember the time he started eating food with his fingers at one of Bruce's charity events, and the entire room looked at him like he had killed someone. You remember watching and cackling sadistically as he struggled with his bow tie for two hours. You remember walking into the Batcave, climbing onto your motorcycle, and suddenly realizing that the tires had mysteriously vanished. Jason isn't a painful memory anymore, not for you.

And now you're watching Tim, as he flies through Gotham alongside Bruce. So different to you. So mercifully different to Jason. Tim follows orders religiously. He has to map everything out, formulate a battle plan for every scenario. He never taunts the enemy, he never races into action and he's never careless or reckless or violent.

You find him, one day, alone in the Batcave. He stares silently, motionlessly, at the case. You can see his reflection perfectly as he runs his eyes over Jason's costume. He does not acknowledge your presence. He does not make a sound as you stride over and come to a stop next to him.

For the first time, you feel almost relieved that Bruce isn't here. Because surely, if he had been, he would have whirled around, strode out of the room, once again consumed by that guilt. But Bruce isn't here, it's just you and Tim. Barbara, too, you suddenly notice, as she falls into line beside you. The three of you look like a trio of soldiers, standing shoulder to shoulder, staring straight ahead.

Minutes pass. You feel oddly relaxed. This is the first time, really, that any of you have been allowed to properly mourn him. To acknowledge that he _did _exist, that he was a part of this legacy. The silence stretches out, but none of you attempts to break it. You are all lost, totally absorbed in your own thoughts.

Jason was killed in an explosion. You know that he might not have had time to register what was happening. He may never have seen the bomb. A small part of you, though, hopes that he did know, if only for an instant, that he was going to die. You like to imagine that he got a chance to see his life flash before his eyes. At least then, in the last seconds of his life, he would have had something to be proud of.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't feel like this is as good, or even really related to the first chapter, but it's been sitting in my computer doing nothing so I figured I may as well post it. Enjoy.**

Nightwing once told you the story of how Batman first met him. He'd obviously recited this little anecdote a few times already, because he seemed to know exactly where to leave the pauses, where a small chuckle should be thrown in, which words required the most emphasis. You can imagine him proudly repeating it to the Team, probably with a hand resting upon the new Robin's shoulder. When he tells it to you, it's in a dull, dead voice, with none of his usual animation. The chuckles and the dramatic pauses are still there, but they all fall flat, as though he's simply repeating them out of habit.

This kid had been out, wandering the streets at some ungodly hour of the night. He'd been watching out for wallets to pick, tires to lift, maybe a couple of errands some of the mafia guys wanted him to run. Then, he'd rounded a corner, and what should he see but the one and only Batmobile?

Any sane kid would have turned on their heel and sprinted as fast as they could. If they were feeling generous, they might shout out a few warnings to their fellow residents of Gotham, letting them know that the Bat was nearby. Instead, he did something which very few men would dream of even attempting. He'd grabbed the tire iron which every self-respecting street kid kept tucked away in their jackets, and had gotten straight to work. He'd been three-quaters of the way through his job when Batman turned up, and had first laid eyes on Jason Todd.

Jason Todd, the second Robin, the one no-one (save Alfred and occasionally Dick) ever talks about. The kid who broke one order too many, got just a little too reckless, and as a result became the first hologram to be placed in the grotto. For most members of the Team, he's a vague memory, or a spooky late-night story used to scare the freshmen. For you, though, he lives on, though, as a cautionary tale, a costume in a glass case, a hologram tucked away in one of the darkest and inaccessible corners of the Cave. His ghost haunts you everywhere. It's there, when Batman orders you to stay behind, says that this mission's too dangerous, that he'll handle this one on his own. It cackles quietly in your ear when Nightwing asks you to be careful, and _tries _to sound professional, but there's always that unmistakable pang of desperation in his voice. It sends a chill through the room whenever you're introduced to a new Leaguer, and they give you that strange look which says that they're looking at the costume and thinking about a completely different person.

And now, it's muttering away in the back of your mind as you desperately fight a roomful of Two-Face's goons. You'd been trying to slip past them, but of course, they had heat and motion sensors on him. This whole mission could be a bust because of you. You give one a good blow to the head with your staff. _Stupid. _Another one gets kneed violently in the gut. _We were all expecting this eventually, weren't we? _You drop a smoke bomb in the hope that it will confuse your enemies a little more than it will confuse you. _You think Grayson's going to make it in time? Or will Brucey have another kid to add to his list of failed sidekicks? _One of them suddenly lunges at you with a knife, and you stagger back into an awkward dodge. A fist appears out of nowhere and slams into your side. _Not like anyone was expecting you to last anyway. _Suddenly, there's another first, and another, and you have to fling yourself away from that knife slashing towards you. And then another man approaches you, sniggering and raising his weapon- _a crowbar, _you realize with a jolt of horror, but a black batarang suddenly materializes out of nowhere and strikes him in the arm. Relief surges through you. They're here, you're not going to die, they're going to get you out of this.

_This time around, at least, _the ghost chuckles quietly. You open your mouth to respond, and immediately chide yourself- _don't be an idiot, he's not real and he can't hear you. _You almost don't register the glint of the metal pipe as it swings towards your head. You feel a surge of panic, hear a sharp _crack, _and the fading sound of Jason's laughter as you instantly lose consciousness.

There is something unmistakable about hospital rooms.

Even before you open your eyes, even before you have properly drifted back into the world of the living, your senses begin to pick up upon the sharp smell of medicine and the unusually clean air as it is sucked into your lungs. The steady _beep…. beep _of a heart monitor thrums from somewhere to your right. Somebody must have put some drugs into your system- you can feel them as they are pumped through your veins, into your head, clouding and your mind and reducing your thoughts to a groggy mess.

For a number of seconds, you remain completely unmoving, as you piece together the splintered shards of your memory. Your name is Tim Drake. Robin. You were ambushed. Probably injured quite badly, considering the fact that you are lying in what appears to be the Watchtower's medical bay. You open your eyes slowly, reluctantly, and take in the darkened room. It's a stereotypical hospital room- minimal furnishing, spotless walls and floors, machinery humming away in the corner. Ordinarily, you might have investigated a little further, but you can feel the drugs beginning to take hold again and your brain begins to cloud over. Both eyes are sliding shut, preparing to take you back to the world of drug-induced sleep.

And then suddenly, they snap open again. Your peripheral vision has detected something which is certainly not typical of a hospital room. Carefully, slowly, hardly daring to breathe, you slide your eyes to the right and quietly process the information before you.

A dark figure is standing in the corner of the room, utterly unmoving.

Your heart gives a gigantic jolt, and adrenaline immediately courses through your system. You can feel your body fighting against the drugs, trying desperately to keep you awake, to learn more about this potential threat. You drag yourself up into a half-sitting position, carefully note the location of the emergency button installed next to the bed, and turn to inspect this person further.

His mouth twisted into a small smirk. His fists are clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched determinedly, his eyes fixed directly ahead. You know this pose well. You've spent countless hours staring at it, down in the grotto of the Cave. This Jason is certainly similar to his hologram, but as the blurriness subsides you are able to pick out more and more differences. The nimble, lithe fourteen-year-old frame has filled out. He's abandoned the Robin costume, replaced it with a brown leather jacket and a pair of ragged jeans. The mask, too, has gone- you can see two unnaturally bright, green eyes glinting at you through the shadows.

'Jason?' you choke. The single word comes out as a pathetic little whimper, and you immediately wish you could take it back. Even if this is a delusion, some strange product of your drugged-up mind, you still feel an undeniable need to impress him.

His smirk widens slightly, but he gives no other reply.

'But you- you're dead,' you say. An embarrassing stutter has crept into your words- it's a habit you picked up from Nightwing. Jason throws back his head, laughs loudly. The sound pounds through your head and you have a childish desire to clap your hands over your ears. Then, suddenly, the laughter stops, like someone has just flicked a switch and shut it down. Jason's expression quickly morphs from amusement to one of black, burning anger.

'Don't remind me,' he says coldly. He steps closer, and you are transfixed by those bright green eyes. They almost seem to glow in this poorly-lit room, but that isn't what unnerves you. They're wide, filled with rage, fixing upon your face with a frightening intensity. The eyes of a madman.

'Am I…?' you murmur, throwing a quick, nervous glance around the room.

'Not yet,' Jason says.

'I was knocked out,' it's a stupid, irrelevant observation, but your brain is growing increasingly reluctant to cooperate with your mouth. 'Batman's going to kill me. I could have died.' You cringe at the helplessness in your voice.

He chuckles again and takes a step forward, allowing his face to be illuminated by the overhanging light. 'Wow. You really are my opposite, aren't you?' You instantly want to reply, give some witty retort to prove that you've got _something _in common with your predecessors. The best you can manage, though, is a blank, stupid stare. He doesn't seem to mind. He just ploughs right on, each word growing more venomous than the last. 'Guess it helped justify what they were doing, right? Replacing me, handing my costume over to some _kid _who's nothing like me and pretending that I never even existed.' It takes all of your willpower not to shrink away from Jason as he bears down on you. His eyes are vacant and at the same time smoldering with rage.

'They didn't… they didn't do that,' you mumble. 'They didn't forget you.'

'Could've fooled me,' he mutters darkly.

'You're wrong. They miss you.' He quickly directs his gaze to the ground. You stare awkwardly down at your hands as your mouth rambles on. 'Bruce _can't _forget you. You were his-'

You look up. The room is empty.

'-son.'

Someone- Black Canary?- is striding in, saying something about a _strange spike in the heart rate, _but she's beginning to sound like she's underwater, and your vision is fading very quickly to black. For a few seconds, you try feebly to keep your eyes open and your brain alert, but the drugs are quickly taking hold, dragging you back into the world of dreams.

You dream of Gotham, its blood red horizon and sneering gargoyles and filthy buildings. And then suddenly you're with the Team on a mission, and then you're back at Gotham Academy, and then you're lounging on a chair in your family's beach house. Various people- Barbara, your father, that woman you saved last week- drift in and out of each dream, muttering a few nonsensical words before they fade away again. There is one boy, however, who is always there, tucked away in the background, stalking you through your sleep.

He has messy black hair, a nimble frame, and a stubborn scowl fixed upon his face. His name is- _was- _Jason Todd. He was reckless, impulsive, cocky, violent, snarky and disrespectful. And for some strange reason, you respect him more than every other hero you've met.


End file.
